Her pulses began to race. “I don’t see why I should take it secondhand. A granddaughter of mine!’ The idiocy of this notion stuck in his craw and he could think of nothing else for a moment. Would it be Thérèse?’ She shook her head. She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. "I'll tackle it to-night!" "But it's after ten!" "What's that got to do with it? … The roofs of the native huts scattering in the wind! … the absolute agony of the twisting palms!…. Before very long I hope to have definite work. Things hung for a moment in an awkward silence. How she needed him! Next moment, she had wrenched open the door, and was confronting her guard.
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